


The Myrtle

by TLara (larissabernstein)



Series: Of Dreams and Names [1]
Category: Megillat Ester | Book of Esther, קבלה | Kabbala, תנ"ך | Tanakh
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 1, Community: purimgifts, Ficlet, Gen, Purim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 10:21:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1301407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larissabernstein/pseuds/TLara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first in a series of three ficlets trying to capture moments in the life of Esther, the Purim story's heroine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Myrtle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hagar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hagar/gifts).



They call me the myrtle and speak of my sweet and pleasant nature in loving tones, devoid of pity.

But sometimes, despite all their care and affection and their praise for what they deem good deeds I’ve done, I feel pity for myself. It is a feeling I cannot help when loneliness and cold creep into my room with the night. Mordechai and my friends are my family, not a mere substitute, but a clandestine longing makes itself felt whenever sleep weakens my resistance. I close my eyes and search for faceless strangers: my father who left me months before I came into this world, my mother who left the moment I was born. And through the haze of tears, which I try to hold back, I look into my world of dreams; I call out with my soul and heart, waiting for acknowledgement. They never fail me.

 _What is Eden like?_ I want to ask the night, but do not dare, lest I may appear childish. (And I am on the verge of becoming a young woman, I remind myself and wipe away the tears of my orphan-self.) But the answer is there, already waiting for me, more felt than heard, but a reliable solace anyway: _It smells of myrtles, sweet and pleasant, the softest of scents - it smells just like the baby we never got to hold._ These words are going to keep me warm all night.

Mordechai does not make fun of me and my dreams. Instead, he never tires of assuring me that it was indeed my mother, with her last breath, who chose the name for me. A myrtle is a sacred plant, but rather plain and modest in appearance, compared to other flowers. My friend Shoshana laughs whenever I relay my cousin’s words, but there is nothing hard or acerbic about her friendly mockery. She is indeed a lily, colourful, cheery and fun - and there are times when I wish I could be as carefree as she. But I am simply a quiet girl, no matter how hard I try; it is my nature. Maybe this is what they value as modesty, but I am just who I am. I am the one they call Hadassah.

 _You are Tiferet._ Another dream, another call from afar. _And you will use your beauty and your strength to save your people._

I do not sleep this night.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Image source: Wikipedia, "Myrtus" - Original book source: Prof. Dr. Otto Wilhelm Thomé, Flora von Deutschland, Österreich und der Schweiz 1885, Gera, Germany. The image is in the public domain.


End file.
